A Nurse's Courage

by Maggie Holt

  Then came the day when Maud’s temperature dropped, and she opened her eyes and asked for her baby. ‘Where is ’e?’ she wanted to know. ‘I wanna see ’im. Will somebody take me to see my baby?’

  In another couple of days she got out of bed and shuffled down the ward. Mabel was allowed to see her, and could hardly control her emotion at seeing her friend so gaunt and emaciated. Against all expectations Maud had pulled through, and the question now was where would she go when she was discharged?

  Teddy and Mrs Hiscock wanted her back at South Lambeth Road, but Norah flatly refused to let baby Alex go there.

  ‘Sure an’ she’s nowhere near fit to look after him round the clock, Mabel. I’m keepin’ him wid me at the Midway till she’s a lot stronger than she is now.’

  ‘But she’s pinin’ for her baby,’ Mabel pointed out. ‘Can’t she come to the Midway just one afternoon to see him an’ give him his bottle?’

  And by arrangement with a sympathetic Matron Brewer and Dr Henry Knowles, now recovered and retired, Maud was taken by the old doctor in his car to be introduced to her son, who was five weeks old. She held out her thin arms for him and gazed in wonder. ‘Alex,’ she whispered. ‘I got me little Alex to remember ’im by.’ She kissed his downy head reverently while Norah fluttered anxiously over them.

  ‘Ye can come an’ see him, Maud, ye can give him his bottle, but ye can’t take him away wid ye,’ she said firmly, inwardly shuddering at the thought of this precious baby cooped up in Maud’s dingy, airless room.

  A pattern of weekly visits to the Midway became established, but Mrs Spearmann, now three months pregnant, pursed her lips at the sight of the gaunt, hollow-eyed woman sitting with her baby among the other children, an incongruously saucy straw hat pulled over her hairless head. And the most annoying part was that this baby had no need to take up room in the hard-pressed, overcrowded home. ‘If we get any more admissions, that baby will have to go, Sister Norah.’

  At last Mabel was free to spend a few days at Belhampton, though Harry’s mother was very doubtful whether he would be able to stand the train journey and change of routine. A taxicab was ordered to take him and Mabel to Waterloo Station, and a friendly porter assisted them with the wheelchair and their luggage. He found the journey tiring and when they arrived at the country station Aunt Elinor had to hide her shock at his appearance.

  ‘We’ve got the three-wheeler outside, with old Shadow,’ she said. ‘We got rid of the car, because Thomas won’t ever drive again.’

  ‘How is he, Aunt Nell?’ Mabel asked when the three of them were settled behind the shafts.

  Elinor flicked the reins and the old horse moved off. ‘Not so well, I’m afraid. He gets very breathless and can’t walk far without having to stop and rest. But we’re all so happy to be seeing you both again at last, Mabel – and dear Harry!’

  The fifteen-minute drive took them between lush green fields, the trees freshly decked in tender new foliage. Mabel exclaimed at the riot of wayside flowers, the lacy meadowsweet and purple loosestrife that grew in abundance at the side of the lane. ‘It’s just like heaven to be here again after so long.’ She sighed. ‘Isn’t it, Harry?’

  But he had eyes only for her and indeed, he took up most of her time on this visit. They both stayed at Pear Tree Cottage on this occasion, Pinehurst being too full of war wounded for a man needing peace and tranquillity. He needed more help with dressing, washing and feeding, and very quickly tired when Mabel took him out in the chair. Guiltily she began to realise how much Doris Drover had to do for him each day and understood why she had been doubtful about him going on holiday.

  However, there was one happy surprise: her sister Daisy at fourteen was no longer the child she had been on Mabel’s last visit and was willing to give all the help she could with the two invalids, for Uncle Thomas was only a shadow of his former genial self. She even confessed to writing that self-pitying letter to Norah.

  ‘I told her I thought you didn’t care about your family any more because you hadn’t been to see us for so long and your letters were so short – and she wrote back and told me about your life at the children’s hospital and that dreadful bomb on the school – and now Harry – oh, poor, dear Harry – oh, Mabel, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!’ And Daisy burst into tears.

  ‘Don’t think about it any more, dear. We’re together again an’ that’s all that matters,’ Mabel whispered as they clung to each other, all restraints dissolved in an uprush of sisterly love.

  But Mabel’s relationship with her other sister was very different.

  ‘We’ll go over to see the Westhouses on Monday, Mabel,’ Daisy announced. ‘Aunt Nell says she’ll look after Harry for the afternoon, because she doesn’t like leaving Uncle Thomas. In fact, we don’t see much of Alice or baby Geoffrey and she only tells us what she wants us to hear. He drinks, you know,’ she added conversationally.

  ‘What, Gerald, d’ye mean?’ asked Mabel in dismay. ‘How bad is he?’

  ‘Nobody actually says so, but we all know he does.’

  As it turned out, Mabel was thankful for her little nephew, now nearly a year old, to fuss over and play with in the uncomfortable atmosphere of the Westhouse home. Alice’s manner was polite but guarded, and there was clearly tension between herself and Mrs Westhouse senior.

  Gerald greeted Mabel with apparent joviality, holding out his hand. He wore an eyepatch and the right side of his face had healed but was, of course, badly scarred.

  ‘Delighted to see you again, my dear Mabel! I’ve always thought you an absolutely splendid girl, and so did poor Alex Redfern – bad job about him, eh? D’you see anything of that little actress he was so keen on?’

  Fortunately he did not seem to expect a detailed answer and Mabel simply said that Maud Ling had been deeply grieved by Alex’s death.

  ‘Yeah, I seem to be the only one of the old gang left and I’m no more good.’ He gave a mirthless bark and nodded towards young Geoffrey on the carpet by her feet. ‘What d’you think of our son and heir, Mabel? Grand little chap, what? Eats like a wolf cub and grows like a little savage! Doesn’t he, Alice?’

  Mabel caught that word savage and did not dare meet Alice’s eye. By the time the visit was over she was convinced of two things: first, that while Gerald was not actually drunk, he was one of those constant tipplers who were seldom completely sober. And second, she was sure that he knew that the delightful fair-haired toddler was not his own.

  She managed to seize a few moments alone with Alice in the garden before she and Daisy took their leave.

  ‘Are yer keepin’ well, dear? Are yer all right?’ she asked, her grey-blue eyes anxiously scanning her sister’s face.

  ‘Yes, Mabel, we’re very well, as you can see,’ came the cool reply. ‘Though things will be even better when we have a home of our own. It’s not ideal to live with one’s in-laws.’

  ‘No, I shouldn’t think it is,’ replied Mabel with feeling. ‘Has Gerald – have yer got any plans for movin’? There’s no reason why yer shouldn’t, is there?’

  Alice replied lightly, ‘When Uncle Thomas goes, I know that Aunt Kate intends to move in with Aunt Elinor – when this damned war is over and Pinehurst is empty, that is. And then Gerald and Geoffrey and I will move into it. It will be ideal for us.’

  ‘Oh.’ Mabel stared in surprise. ‘Has Aunt Kate said as much?’

  ‘Not in so many words, but of course she’ll be very glad of a buyer in the family. Gerald can offer the full market price for it.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure we all want Uncle Thomas to live for many more years to come,’ said Mabel a little reproachfully. She said no more, for she sensed a deep discontent in her sister’s life and felt sorry for them all.

  No further invitation came from the Westhouses and Aunt Nell did not seem surprised.

  ‘Alice has a difficult path to tread,’ she said diplomatically. ‘And Gerald does seem genuinely fond of little Geoffrey. We can only hope that things will be better for them after
the war.’

  For the rest of the week Mabel spent most of her time with Harry. At the back of Pear Tree Cottage there was a hawthorn hedge beyond which lay a meadow where sheep grazed. A gate opened into it from the garden and it was to this sheltered spot that Mabel took him for a few hours each day. Blankets, books and little picnics were carried out to the hidden haven where, safe from intrusion, they rediscovered something of the happiness of their early courting days. The weather was fine and warm, and on their last evening there was a glorious sunset over Wychell Forest.

  He put his arm round her shoulder and she let her head rest lightly on his chest. He smiled into her eyes and although he said nothing – for he seldom spoke now – she knew that he was giving thanks for the love they had shared over eight years. Nothing on earth could ever take it away from them and in the silence of evening there was peace in their hearts.

  Before the end of the week, Aunt Kate took Mabel aside and questioned her about her plans for the future, what she intended to do after the war. ‘Of course I realise that your work on the district is convenient for you at present, Mabel, being able to visit Harry quite often, and he has to be your first consideration,’ she said. ‘But I wonder if you still hope to run a children’s refuge one day?’

  Mabel admitted that she still clung to her dream, but in her present circumstances she could not possibly make any plans; her work as Kennington midwife was rewarding and likely to continue for the foreseeable future. Miss Chalcott smiled and kept her own counsel, but when she and Mrs Somerton had seen Mabel and Harry off on the London train, she remarked to her sister that they would not see poor Captain Drover again.

  ‘Mabel will live a single life as I have done, Elinor, but I believe that she will put it to good use,’ she said. ‘And she’ll be happier than Alice in the long run, you mark my words.’

  When Harry and his wheelchair had been safely deposited at number 8 Falcon Terrace, Mabel got a bus to Kennington Road and carried her suitcase from the bus stop to Deacon’s Walk. Already her mind was occupied with what had been happening on her district while she had been away, which mothers had been delivered and which were still awaiting her.

  Ruby greeted her fondly, but pointed straight away to a note on the mantelpiece with Mabel’s name scrawled across it. It had arrived the day before, Ruby said, and was from Sister McLoughlin. With a sense of foreboding Mabel tore it open.

  ‘For the love of God come as soon as you can, Mabel,’ she read. ‘Alex has been taken away and I cannot tell Maud. Please help me. Norah.’

  Mabel’s hand flew to her throat: the Redferns!

  Chapter Twenty-three

  ‘NORAH, NORAH, WHAT happened? Was it the Redferns? When did they come? Who told them? Was it Stephen Knowles?’

  If Mabel was distracted by the news of the Ling baby’s disappearance, Norah McLoughlin was completely distraught. Never before had Mabel seen the quiet Irish girl in such a tearful, emotional state.

  ‘This mornin’, this very mornin’, it was – one o’ the nursery girls comes runnin’ to me to say this man an’ wumman are at the door all dressed in black like a pair o’ crows, an’ they’re tellin’ her they want to see baby Redfern. “But we haven’t got a Redfern,” she says, an’ they say maybe the child’s called Ling, an’ then – an’ then they push past her an’ start openin’ doors till they get to the nursery – oh, Mabel, I was out o’ me office like a bat out o’ hell – an’ there they are bendin’ over the little darlin’ fella, an’ she’s sayin’, “That’s him! That’s our son’s child!” An’ then she grabs him up an’ runs away wid him, out o’ the door and across the yard – I try to foller, but the man bars me way until she’s out o’ sight – an’ then he’s off after her, an’ there’s a big car waitin’ outside – an’ meself shriekin’ like a banshee, an’ Mrs Lovell cryin’ – oh, Mrs Spearmann, what am I goin’ to do? How can I tell Maud I’ve let her baby go?’

  Olive Spearmann, summoned from Maybury Place on a Saturday afternoon, had appeared on the scene looking both annoyed and anxious. Now four months pregnant, she was feeling the strains of being a philanthropist, a wife to an alleged war profiteer, a mother with a household to run, and any number of other people’s problems to deal with, and all without any thanks or appreciation. And now here was Sister Norah having hysterics and Nurse Court furiously angry.

  ‘Who told the Redferns, Mrs Spearmann?’ Mabel demanded as if they had changed places in the social scheme of things. ‘Was it Dr Knowles – the younger one, I mean? I can’t think that his father would do such a cruel thing. Tell me!’

  ‘Kindly do not adopt that tone with me, Nurse Court. I’m not accountable to you for my actions,’ retorted the lady, though her colour deepened and she did not meet Mabel’s eyes.

  ‘No, but ye’re accountable to poor Maud Ling who nearly died havin’ that child, and now he’s all she’s got left in the world.’ Mabel raised her voice in accusation. ‘Who told the Redferns?’

  There was a moment of quivering silence, broken by the babble of children upset by the loud altercation going on.

  Then Mrs Spearmann burst out defensively, ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, the grandparents had a perfect right to know about their son’s child! They can give him a good home and a proper upbringing. How was I to know that they’d come straight here and take the child without any discussion or permission? Don’t forget they’ve lost their son, and it seems that their other son has had to go to the war, so they could lose him too. They must be frantic. And doesn’t this just show the strength of their feelings? I still say that –’

  Even in her anger Mabel felt a measure of relief that it had not been Stephen who had betrayed Maud. ‘How could yer?’ she cried. ‘Takin’ away the one thing she’s got left in life – it’ll kill her, that’s what it’ll do when she hears this – it’ll kill her!’

  Olive Spearmann suddenly collapsed in tears. ‘I did it for the best!’ she sobbed, her plump shoulders heaving. ‘It would have had to come out one day, sooner or later. That girl should be thankful that her child’s got grandparents with a decent home – he’ll have everything money can buy – he’ll be so much better off than the poor, unwanted babies we’ve got here. I’m tired of being blamed for doing my best for everybody!’

  Mabel was beginning to see an awful inevitability in what was happening. Mrs Spearmann was right: there was no way that this could have been prevented. At some point the bereaved Redferns would have discovered that they had a grandchild. A single, penniless cockney girl could never challenge a wealthy, influential couple who were able to call upon the support of friends in the right places to back their right to the boy. Maud’s only hope now was that in claiming him they would acknowledge her as his mother and allow her to visit him.

  ‘Very well, Mrs Spearmann, I’ll have to go and tell her, then. An’ I’ll get in touch with Dr Knowles as well. He delivered her and knows her circumstances. I’ll see yer later, Norah.’

  At the lodging house Mabel rang Mrs Hiscock’s bell.

  ‘I’ve come to see Maud. Is she in?’

  ‘Yes, Nurse Court, come in. What’s up?’

  ‘Is Teddy in?’ asked Mabel.

  ‘No, he’s down at the newspaper office. He’ll be in early today, bein’ Sat’day.’

  ‘The sooner the better, ’cause I’ve got very bad news for Maud. Will yer put the kettle on?’

  ‘Yeah, an’ I’ll get the brandy out, an’ all, Nurse Court. Is it about the baby?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll go on up, then.’

  She found Maud resting on the bed in which her son had been conceived and born. Her hair was beginning to grow again and she was putting on a little flesh, but remained a shadow of her former self. Her hollow eyes widened at the sight of her friend.

  ‘Why, ’ello, Mabel, gal! ’Ow was yer ’oliday?’

  ‘Lovely, thanks, Maudie.’ Mabel heard her voice shake slightly and her heart twisted within her at the thought of what she was about to inflict on her oldest friend; h
er hands were clasped together so tightly that the knuckles whitened.

  Maud raised herself up on one elbow. ‘Hey, what’s up, then, gal? Yer look as if ye’ve ’ad a kick in the teeth. What’s ‘appened? Is it ‘Arry?’ She looked into Mabel’s face and her voice took on a note of fear. ‘What’s ‘appened to Alex?’

  ‘Maudie, me poor friend – he’s gone to the Redferns.’

  The low moan that escaped Maud’s throat was the most despairing of sounds. She fell back on the pillow, too weak to rail against fate.

  ‘Yes, I can see what yer mean, Mabel, it’s a tragedy for her, isn’t it – on top o’ losin’ her young man an’ all.’ Ruby Swayne had listened in sympathy to Mabel’s account of Maud’s loss, but like everybody else who knew of it, from old Dr Knowles to Mrs Spearmann, she had to point out that baby Alex’s best interests would probably be served by being adopted by his grandparents and brought up by them in a comfortable home. He would go to a good school and be given every opportunity in life; and now that Olive Spearmann had personally approached the Redferns and obtained an assurance that the child’s mother would be allowed to visit him once a week, there seemed to be no real objection. Even Norah had agreed that it was a good compromise and best for little Alexander, as his doting grandparents called him.

  ‘Has the poor girl got a job yet?’ asked Ruby.

  ‘No, she’s not fit to go back to Chu Chin Chow. She could do with somethin’ to earn a little money, and there’s plenty o’ places in service – but she’s got no interest in anythin’, poor Maudie. Oh, poor Maudie!’

  ‘What about helpin’ in a Salvation Army Women’s Shelter, then?’ suggested Ruby. ‘We’re always wantin’ suitable assistants an’ some of our girls are in the same sort o’ trouble as Maud. Would yer like me to talk to her, Mabel?’